A Question of Loyalty
by Ayla Pascal
Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Question of Loyalty

Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.

Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)

**Chapter 1**

Hermione always had the slight inkling that she may just be too smart for her own good. At her Muggle elementary school, she had always been the studious little girl sitting in the corner, curled up with a novel, while her classmates ran around and chattered. Once Hermione had received her Hogwarts letter, she vowed that this new world would accept her. She spent the two months before her first year reading up on everything about the wizarding world. She would impress them with her knowledge.

Hermione was wrong.

They reminded her of her Muggle classmates as they scampered around, ignoring her quiet protests.

But, Hermione reflected, it had not all turned out badly. She had made friends and people did accept her for her intelligence. Too much so, a part of her mind always cautioned. They see you are merely a brain. Nothing else. Hermione usually quashed that little voice.

After the time-turner fiasco in her third year, Hermione never thought that she would voluntarily put on another time-turner. They had too many unknown variables for her comfort.

She was wrong again.

"But I can take ten NEWTs," she protested to Professor McGonagall.

The older woman just gave her a severe look through her tortoise-shell glasses. "Miss Granger, that is physically impossible. Unless you agree to use a time-turner."

"I can do them without the time-turner."

Professor McGonagall sighed. "What is the problem, Miss Granger? You had no problem with using this in your third year. You are a trustworthy and responsible student. I trust that you will not use this for any untoward purpose."

Hermione gulped silently at these words. "I just..." she trailed off. "There are too many possible ramifications!"

A frown formed on Professor McGonagall's face. "You will be using the time-turner to attend extra classes and to study. _Nothing else_. What possible ramifications could there be?"

And Hermione couldn't think of anything to say to those words, so she had simply taken the time-turner with a brief nod.

She looked at the sparkly hourglass in her hand. It looked the same as the one she had in her third year except for the tiny scrolling script at the bottom that proclaimed: _The new and improved time-turner!_ She frowned slightly. What did they mean by new and improved? As far as she could tell, it looked more or less the same.

Professor McGonagall gave a small cough and Hermione came to herself with a start. Had the older woman been speaking? She wasn't sure. "Sorry, Professor," she said contritely and left her office.

Walking down the a flight of stairs to the Great Hall, Hermione couldn't help but finger the time-turner that was around her neck under her robes. It felt so strange for her to have the unfamiliar-yet-familiar weight there.

"Hermione!"

She spun around and saw Harry and Ron hurtling down the stairs towards her. She smiled at them.

"Going to Hogsmeade?" asked Ron.

Hermione pursed her lips. She had forgotten that it was yet another Hogsmeade weekend. "I might not," she began slowly before Harry gave her a mock-horrified look.

"How could you not? It's like..."

"It's sacrilege!" Ron burst out.

She raised an eyebrow at the red-haired boy. "I see you've learned a new word." He blushed. "I need to study for my NEWTs."

"They're in a year," Harry's voice was flat. "Besides, don't you think we have more important things to worry about?"

There was no doubt in Hermione's mind what he was referring to, and by the rather panicked look that Ron shot her, he also had come to the same conclusion. Harry had changed somewhat from the mostly cheerful boy he had been throughout his first four years, to somebody who was mostly morose and always thinking of the upcoming battle. Hermione supposed that there was something to be grateful for that his attitude had yet to infest the rest of the school. From what she had read of the situation when Voldemort had first risen, most people had been far more paranoid than what Harry was now.

"Well, I suppose I'll go then," Hermione said quietly, earning her a very grateful look from Ron. She let out a mental sigh. It wasn't as though she had suddenly really wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but she had to go otherwise Harry was going to sink into another one of his moods and make Ron miserable too.

Hermione really wasn't sure how long she could continue to be friends with Harry if he kept on acting like this. In a way, she hoped that the final front-off with Voldemort would come soon, just so that she could get her friend back. That is, assuming he survived.

With a dry smile, Hermione realised that she wasn't exactly impervious to the rather panicked mood that seemed to be filtering around the castle recently. Even the teachers had been seen to jump at the slightest noises. It was as though the Order had received notice of an imminent attack and was terrified of it. She hoped that wasn't the case, though, from what Harry had told them of what had happened at the end of their fifth year, she wouldn't really put it past Dumbledore to keep that little titbit of information from the students.

Joining the line of students, Hermione turned to her friends. "What do you two plan on buying?"

Harry simply shrugged, but Ron answered. "Christmas presents."

She raised an eyebrow so he elaborated: "Really early Christmas presents. I mean, I doubt we'd be let out of the school again before Christmas."

Hermione nodded. That made sense. It was too dangerous to have Hogwarts students trooping around Hogsmeade in the current political climate. "It is equally dangerous today, though," she pointed out practically. "Perhaps they should cancel this trip as well."

"They can't do that," Harry said quietly. "If they do that, then what are we all fighting for?"

"I guess," Ron said doubtfully.

"Getting all philosophical on us, Harry?" Hermione tried to lighten the situation. After all, it was Harry who had wanted her to come and she wasn't going to spend the entire time just how many times he could die a gruesome death.

Harry shrugged. "So what if I am?"

Ron seemed to sense a possible imminent fight for he immediately held out a hand. "We're going to have fun today. Nothing else." There was a note of warning in his voice.

"Fine," Harry said shortly. "Fun. How about we first go to Zonko's, okay?"

"That sounds like fun," Hermione said brightly, forcing a smile on her face.

The three passed by the Ministry Aurors who were guarding the gates of Hogwarts. Harry gave a small wave to one of them.

"Was that Tonks?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded. "She wrote to me a few days ago sounding quite worried. They think there's going to be an upcoming attack."

Hermione folded her lips tightly. Predictable, she thought. They don't tell us anything. When will they learn that people armed with knowledge are far more potent foes than without. But she didn't say anything. There was no point in starting yet another argument with Harry who was still somewhat sore about the fact that Dumbledore had waited five years to share the knowledge of the prophecy with him.

"Do you want to get a butterbeer first?" Ron asked as they walked into the village.

"I'm quite thirsty," Hermione agreed, and glanced at Harry but he wasn't listening.

Instead, Harry seemed to be looking at something in the distance and frowning.

"What's the matter?"

"I feel..." Harry reached up a hand and rubbed his scar. When his hand came down, it was bloody.

"Harry?" Ron said concerned and pushed the hair away from Harry's scar. Hermione gasped. The entire scar was pulsing red and oozing blood.

"I guess there's going to be an attack..." Ron whispered when an emaciated hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Right about now, I would think," came the hissing tones behind them. Hermione whirled around and saw Bellatrix Lestrange standing there with a sneer on her lips. The dark-haired woman had her wand pointed towards Harry. "Now I wouldn't move if I were you," she told Hermione who was automatically reaching for her wand. "Unless you want your pretty Hero to die."

Harry spat at her, the globule of spit landing on her cheek. "What makes you think you could kill me, _Death Eater."_

She gave a high laugh. "I killed my little cousin, didn't I?"

Harry stiffened. "You didn't!" he said sharply. "He fell through the Veil."

"Believe what you will, boy," Bellatrix was dismissive. "But you three are coming with me right now."

"Or what?" Harry snapped.

"Or I will kill your friends." Lucius Malfoy came up behind Bellatrix and pointed his wand towards Hermione. "You wouldn't want your little Mudblood friend here to die, would you, _Harry?_"

He leered at Hermione, who involuntarily backed away.

Why was he looking at her like that?

Her gaze flickered around at the people who were walking past them in the village. Nobody seemed to be scared. In fact, everything seemed to be normal around them. It was as if...

"Yes, Mudblood," Malfoy's sharp voice broke into her thoughts. "There is a glamour around you."

"A glamour?" Ron stammered.

"Hiding us from sight and hearing," Hermione hissed.

Malfoy sneered. "Oh look, the Mudblood knows something. How cute."

"You can't do this!" Hermione burst out. "Dumbledore will know! He'll send people to rescue us."

"But there won't be enough time, will there?" Malfoy said smoothly. "You will be taken to a very well-hidden place, don't worry."

Time. Hermione frowned. Time. _Time!_ Her new time-turner! Her hand shot up and into her robes drawing out the twinkling hourglass. If she had looked up, she would have seen the look of pure horror that had shot across Malfoy's face. Hermione flipped the hourglass a couple of times. Suddenly, Malfoy's hand shot out and attempted to snatch the time-turner off her neck.

Horrified, Hermione saw the little hourglass flip over and over again before being finally ripped from her neck.

She disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: A Question of Loyalty

Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.

Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)

**Chapter 2**

Hermione woke up. With a wince, she lifted an arm to rub her shoulder. Dimly, she heard voices around her. Blinking, she tried to clear her vision. Finally, a few murky figures swam into view in front of her. "Who are you?" she managed to say, her voice raspy.

"Who are you?" one of the people countered.

Hermione frowned. His voice sounded almost familiar. As if she had heard it before, just not with this particular timbre. "Hermione Granger," she said. "I was in Hogsmeade and..."

"I've never heard of a Granger before."

Before Hermione could say another word, she found the tip of a wand pressed to her throat. She gasped and it relented slightly. "What are you doing?" Her voice was slightly stronger. "Who are you?" she tried again.

One of the taller figures reached down and with a rough motion, hauled her to her feet. Hermione blinked a few times. Her vision was clearing very slowly. The boy was beginning to seem very familiar to her. Black hair. Dark eyes. Slightly arrogant stance. "Sirius?" she whispered.

Immediately, she found the pressure on her throat increase. Turning slightly, Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the other people around her. "The Marauders?"

"And, pray, how in the name of Merlin did you know that?" James Potter said coldly. He pressed the wand further into her throat. "Answer me, girl, or you may find yourself unable to breathe."

"Shit," Hermione muttered, feeling her knees go weak. She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you." Her upper lip twisted slightly as she considered what a ridiculous notion that was. She wasn't going to do anything to Harry's father or his friends. "I'm..." she paused. "I had a bit of an accident."

Peter sneered at her. "You look perfectly fine to me."

Hermione didn't like the silent leer. "It wasn't that sort of accident," she said sharply. "I'm from the future. There was an accident with a time-turner."

"Oh?" James arched an eyebrow at her. "And where is this time-turner then?"

Hermione reached up automatically to where her time-turner hung, but with a sinking heart, felt that it wasn't there. Malfoy must have managed to rip it off, she realised, horrified. "It must have fallen off in the future."

"Not a very likely story." The quiet voice belonged to Remus Lupin. "Everybody knows that time-turners will never be made to travel back in time for more than a day. It is just far too dangerous."

"But it's true!" Hermione burst out. "It was a New and Improved time-turner!"

"As my dear friend here said," James said grimly, "a likely story."

"What other reason do you have for me appearing here without warning, then?" Hermione hated the rising note of her voice. What would happen if she was stuck here in the past? She had read enough about time paradoxes to know that she never wanted to be in one. She looked from one face to another, all staring at her with suspicion and paranoia etched onto their features. These were no normal students, she realised with a sinking heart. Strangely, they reminded her of Harry as he had been for the past two years.

"Perhaps you belong to one of those new rising groups. Perhaps the Death Eaters?" Remus said calmly. "We can never be too careful, these days."

Hermione snorted. "Why would I belong to the Death Eaters? They hate Muggle-borns!"

"But, we only have your word that you are Muggle-born," James said, twitching the wand slightly.

"W-what are you going to do?" Hermione said, voice quavering. An idea suddenly struck her. "Take me to Dumbledore!"

Remus tilted his head and looked at her curiously. "I think that is a good idea," he said quietly. "Dumbledore will know what to do."

"But that'll be taking her within the wards of Hogwarts," Sirius pointed out.

Remus shrugged. "The dampeners will stop her from doing anything too destructive."

"But she could be a Death Eater!" Peter burst out, angrily. "How can you just take her inside Hogwarts!"

Hermione glared at the slightly shorter, pug-faced boy. "And what would you care, _rat!_" she spat. Hermione wasn't going to risk changing time completely by telling them that Pettigrew was the traitor, but she couldn't help but bristle at the self-righteous tone in the boy's voice. She watched as his face paled, but this was unnoticed by the other three boys.

"So, you seem to know quite a lot," Remus said mildly. "Interesting."

"That would be because I came from the future," Hermione tried to explain again but James simply flicked his wand.

"Stupefy!"

---

When Hermione woke again, she found herself seated in front of the Headmaster. Lifting her head, she saw Dumbledore looking at her through grave eyes. Hermione could feel a trickle of coldness seep down her spine at the expression on his face. Throughout her seven Hogwarts years, she had never seen Dumbledore ever look like this. It was almost... no, that was ridiculous... but it was almost as if he _feared _her.

"Headmaster," she said desperately, "you have to believe me! I come from the future. There was a Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade and my time-turner got snatched off me."

Dumbledore didn't say anything for a few seconds, but just sat there staring at her through his pale blue eyes. "I took the precaution of performing Priori Incantum on your wand," he finally said quietly.

Hermione paled. She remembered perfectly well what the last spell she used on her wand was. "I can explain!" she said desperately.

"I doubt that any explanation would suffice for using one of the Unforgivable Curses, but by all means, go ahead."

"It was you that suggested that we learn them!" she said. "Harry had to master them before the war, so Ron and I decided to learn them with him. I could only bring myself to do the Imperius Curse though." Hermione looked desperately at the Headmaster, hoping for some sort of understanding in his eyes, but she found none.

"You are a child," Dumbledore said, a hint of condescension in his voice. "Do I truly look like the sort of man to – even in dire circumstances – use children in a war?"

"You had to!"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "An interesting story, Miss Granger, if that truly is your real name, but unfortunately, you will have to come up with something far more convincing for the Aurors when they come."

"The Aurors?" Hermione gasped.

Dumbledore looked at her coldly. "I am simply doing my duty. I discovered that the Imperius Curse was performed by your wand. By your admission, you performed this curse. As you are no doubt fully aware, performance of the Unforgivables is punishable by lifetime incarceration in Azkaban. That however, is up to how the Aurors decide to handle this. I suggest that you come up with less of a ... foolish tale for them. I'm afraid that taxing the patience of Aurors is unwise."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "You're handing me over to the Aurors so that they can throw me in Azkaban?" she spluttered. She couldn't believe it. This Dumbledore was so far removed from the Dumbledore she knew and trusted in the future that she might have been forgiven in thinking that they were completely different people. "But... but," she prevaricated. "You can use legilimency on me!"

To her surprise, Dumbledore gave a soft laugh. "Do you think me so stupid as not to have tried that already? You have a well protected mind."

With growing horror, Hermione realised that her veritable treasure trove of knowledge from the future was condemning her further as she revealed each and every part. "You have to believe me!" she pleaded.

"I'm sorry, child," Dumbledore said quietly. "But I'm afraid that is out of my hands now. You chose to use one of the Unforgivables, you must face the consequences."

There was a faint knock on the door behind Hermione and she jumped. "Is that..." she whispered.

"Come in," Dumbledore ordered.

The door opened and Hermione heard two sets of footsteps proceed into the room. She tried to get up so that she could get a better look at the people, but she found that she couldn't move off the chair.

"I took the precaution of securing you to the chair," Dumbledore told her.

Her eyes widened. It was slowly beginning to sink in that Dumbledore was being completely serious. He truly believed that she was a Death Eater. The Imperius Curse coming out of her wand with Priori Incantum probably didn't help matters.

The Aurors moved in front of her and flanked the desk where Dumbledore was seated. She looked at them and they looked back impassively at her.

"She is merely a child," Dumbledore told the Aurors. "Perhaps a lifetime imprisonment is too harsh."

One of the Aurors – the taller and heavier one – turned towards Dumbledore. "Professor," he said, his voice deep, "with all respect, that is out of your hands. It is up to the Wizengamot."

Dumbledore nodded heavily. "Very well."

The same Auror turned to Hermione. "You are hereby arrested in the name of the Ministry of Magic for performing the Imperius Curse on an unknown subject. If you make a threatening gesture, you may be subject to an accident. You will remain silent. _Silenco_!"

Hermione found herself not being able to say a word as she was escorted from the Headmaster's office under guard by Aurors.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: A Question of Loyalty

Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.

Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)

**Chapter 3**

Hermione found herself seated in a small and dank room in one of the darkest corners of the Ministry. Dampening wards were placed all around the room, even in the ceiling and floor and she could see the faint glow of more powerful wards around the door. It seemed that the Ministry was overly suspicious of what a suspected Death Eater might do, wand or no wand.

Standing up and stretching slightly to relieve the muscle cramp in her left leg, Hermione began to pace around the room. Ten steps by eight steps, with only a small hard bench bolted into the wall at one end. With a small sigh, she sat down on the bench once more.

There was a slight scuffling sound outside the door and Hermione jumped out once more, her hand automatically going for her wand – which obviously wasn't there. It seemed that paranoia was inbuilt into her as well. "Who's there?" she said her voice only wobbling slightly. "Whoever it is, you're mistaken! I'm no Death Eater!"

The door swung open and a man walked in. He nodded perfunctorily at the Auror who walked away and then closed the door behind him. With obvious distaste, he observed the surroundings and then walked until he was standing directly in front of Hermione. "You don't look powerful enough," was his only comment as his eyes swept up and down her.

Hermione frowned slightly. The man looked very familiar. Too familiar. Mentally, she aged him about twenty years, lengthened his hair and gave him a snake cane. "Lucius Malfoy," she stated.

To her surprise, he laughed. It wasn't as unpleasant a sound as she thought it would be. Rather, it was rather rich and warm and not exactly reminiscent of the kind of laugh she thought You-Know-Who's right hand man would have. Somehow, Hermione had always thought that Malfoy's laugh might be somewhat like what Harry had always described Voldemort's laugh to be like. High, cold, the kind of laugh that sent shivers down the backs of little children.

"That is my name," he agreed.

"What, in Merlin's name, are you doing here?" Hermione spat. "Death Eater!" She took an involuntary step backwards.

He gave her a little frown and then a twisted smile. "I'm afraid that it is you who is accused of being a Death Eater."

Hermione could think of nothing to say to those words.

Lucius gave her another one of those appraising looks and she shivered. There was nothing sexual in the look, but she still felt... _valued. _ It felt like he was pricing her and cataloguing her. "Appearances can be deceiving, don't you agree?" he said conversationally. When she didn't answer, he continued. "For example, you do not look like a very powerful witch. Yet Priori Incantum showed that you have performed the Imperius Curse."

Hermione glared at him. She couldn't understand why he was here. "Why are you here?" A horrifying thought occurred to her. "You aren't on my defence team for the trial, are you?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow at her. "Your defence team?" he repeated, voice mildly incredulous. "Suspected Death Eaters do not have a defence team. Don't you realise that your trial will be a mere formality."

She felt a wave of nausea overtake her. "A formality?" she repeated softly. "So, I'm going to Azkaban." With slightly shaking legs, Hermione sat down again and buried her face in her hands. Everything she had read in the history books had pointed to the rapidly increasing arrests in this period. Hermione, like everybody else, had simply assumed that the Aurors had gotten lucky, but it seemed that there was a far more sinister reason. With a sinking heart, she realised that Sirius's farce of a trial was more common than anybody had ever suspected.

"If you're lucky," Lucius seemed determined to burst every bubble she had. "Your age might be the only fact that saves you from the Kiss. You have yet to reach the age of majority." He shrugged. "Some are squeamish of putting such a pretty, young witch as you to death."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Of course, some would say that sucking the soul out of the body does not constitute death." Lucius's face held an intense expression of concentration. "There are some very interesting works in this area. After all, your body would still technically be alive." He gave her a sly smile.

Hermione took a deep breath, attempting to calm her frayed nerves. "What are you doing here then?"

"Offering my help," Lucius said simply.

Hermione looked up at him and snorted. "You are offering to help me?" she repeated.

Lucius tilted his head slightly to one side. "You find that surprising?" he asked mildly.

Well yes! Hermione's mental voice screamed. I'm Muggle-born, why on earth would you want to help me? However, she decided that it was perhaps unwise to say that out aloud. "And how could you help me? You just spent the last five minutes convincing me that I would be lucky if I got a lifetime in Azkaban."

To that, Lucius simply gave her an enigmatic smile. Reaching into one of the pockets of his immaculate robes, he pulled out a small pin, which he pinned onto her robes. "This is a portkey which is activated when it comes into contact with blood. It will work anywhere outside of the range of these dampeners. I suggest that you activate it while the Wizengamot are sentencing you." He gave a slight smile. "It would be amusing."

"That's Dark Magic!" Hermione accused. Very intelligent, her mental voice chastised her. Annoy the one person who is trying to help you. It doesn't matter that it's Lucius Malfoy. Tell me, girl, would you rather Azkaban?

Lucius surprised her again when he simply gave her a nod. "Very well done, Miss Granger. There are few your age who would know that."

"How do you know my name?"

"I have my sources," Lucius said smoothly. "Besides, you know of my name, so you must know of my family's influence. My father sits on the Wizengamot and hence I can come here and experience our justice system in action whenever I want. There is quite the furore up there about you."

She was struck by the similarities and yet differences between a young Lucius Malfoy and a young Draco Malfoy. Where Draco simply relied on his family influence to get him places, Lucius seemed to only refer to his family after he established his own power. Although both of them exuded arrogance and pureblood pride, there was something less grating about the older Malfoy. "Why are you helping me?" she asked.

"You are a powerful witch," he said slowly. "I would hate to see that power go to waste. You see to have a few prejudices against Dark Magic I would like to erase." He paused and gave her a sly smile. "Besides, what sort of wizard would I be if I stood idly by while a pretty pureblooded witch was sent to Azkaban."

Hermione only just managed to stop her jaw dropping in surprise. He thought that she was pureblooded? Well that explained a lot. She decided to ignore what was an obvious bit of flattery.

He inclined his head politely towards her. "It is your choice. But remember, there are dampeners in Azkaban as well." Lucius opened the door and left. The wards sealed themselves seamlessly behind him, shutting Hermione alone in the small room once more.

Hermione slowly unpinned the little pin from her robes and stared at it. The snake was curled up on itself so that the pin was almost round. From the feel and shine of it, it was made of silver and about the size of her thumbnail.

Lucius Malfoy had surprised her in more ways than one with his entrance. It was true that he would have never helped her if he had known her true bloodlines, but otherwise, he seemed so utterly human. He didn't seem anything like the impression she had of him in her second year. Even the faint impression she had in her fifth year of him snarling and firing curses at her didn't seem completely accurate. This Lucius was less hard than what he would be in the future. There was an almost innocence about him that managed to gleam through at instances, but she suspected that would disappear very soon in the upcoming years.

Toying with the pin in her fingers, Hermione wondered if she could do this. Defy the Ministry like this. After all, she had performed an Unforgivable. Was she really expecting to face no consequences for that action? Did it really matter whether the trial was a farce or not? She had committed the deed. Regardless of how she looked at it, she was _guilty_.

But Azkaban?

The memory of the Dementors in her third year still haunted her. They hadn't affected her as much as they had Harry, but then again, she hadn't survived her parents' death.

But the cold fingers of laughter coming from malicious students still hurt.

Could she really voluntarily condemn herself to a lifetime of that?

Especially if she had an alternative?

But the alternative, Hermione knew, was no real alternative at all. Safety among the Death Eaters was as fleeting as a summer shower. And she would be the utmost fool to think that she would not be summarily executed once they realised her true Mudblood status.

She didn't even know where the portkey would take her. Fool! She hadn't even thought to ask.

Hoping against hope, Hermione wondered whether the Wizengamot would find it within them to not sentence her to Azkaban. No chance, she thought bitterly, but still hoped.

She had just been in this time for less than twenty-four hours and already Hermione could feel the fear that clung to the air. It was unspoken fear but it was still there. She could see it in the Marauders' eyes. She could hear it in the Headmaster's words. And she could feel it almost coming in waves from the Aurors as they had escorted her into this room.

With numb fingers, Hermione repinned the little snake pin onto her dusty robes. She would decide when the time came.

---

The cold dungeon made Hermione shiver as she sat in the chair, clamps around her wrists and ankles, listening to Dumbledore give testimony. Every now and then she risked a glance upwards at the members of the Wizengamot, but all looked away when her gaze fell on them. It was as if they too were infected with the same fear as the Marauders, as Dumbledore, as the Aurors felt.

"Miss Granger," Crouch turned towards her, "if that is truly your real name. The last spell performed by your wand was the Imperius Curse. _By your own admission, _you performed this Curse. What do you have to say for yourself before we pass judgement on you?"

"You don't understand!" Hermione said desperately. "I'm from the future. There's a war going on. We have to learn those spells."

Crouch gave a barking laugh. "Do you have anything of use to say, or will you drag us through these asinine excuses of yours again?"

"Give me Veritaserum then if you don't believe me!"

"I'm afraid that is not necessary, Miss Granger," Crouch told her impassively. "You see, we have all the evidence we need. You confessed to using an Unforgivable." With a glance upwards at the Wizengamot, he cleared his throat. "We hereby sentence you to a lifetime in Azkaban. All in favour?"

Hermione looked at the witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, all of which unanimously raised their hands. Their eyes seemed to bore into her, condemning her for being a Dark Witch.

"I'm not!" she tried to scream, but nothing came out.

Crouch waved a hand towards an Auror standing at the edge of the courtroom who opened one of the doors and then jumped back. To her horror, Hermione saw a pair of Dementors glide out, black robes swirling, rotting hands reaching out for her.

Immediately she felt the icy-coldness overtake her. The restraints on her chair snapped open but she didn't feel like she could run or hide. The taunting voices began sounding in her mind.

The pin!

Hermione could only faintly remember that she had a pin somewhere on her robes that could get her out of this situation. Looking downwards, thorough fuzzy vision, she could just spot the shiny silver snake pin. She lifted her hand and grasped it, feeling the needle-like point slide into her thumb.

She felt the tugging motion of the portkey and immediately the effects of the Dementors subsided. When she felt almost herself again, she looked up and into the grey and amused eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

"You took my advice," he said before lifting his wand. "Stupefy!"

Hermione collapsed.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: A Question of Loyalty

Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.

Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)

**Chapter 4**

Hermione woke up again for the third time in twenty-four hours. Rubbing her neck, she wondered whether any textbooks talked about the judicious use of Stupefy giving people unwanted headaches. Probably not.

Looking around, she was somewhat surprised that she seemed to be in a sitting-room of sorts. She was laid out across a hard, overstuffed settee. The entire room reminded her somewhat of the old movies her mum enjoyed watching. All brocade and velvet. Sitting up, Hermione noticed that although Lucius seemed to have warded the door at the other end of the room, he hadn't bothered with strong wards. She was almost positive that she could break these even without her wand. So much for the comments about my powerful magic, she thought dryly.

Standing, she walked over to the door. "Why am I in here?" she said loudly through the keyhole. She didn't really expect anybody to answer, but somehow it made her feel better speaking out loud. There was something creepy about this room despite its opulent beauty.

She debated whether to try to break through the wards. If she did manage to get rid of them, her magic would be severely weakened. Breaking wards wasn't an easy task, especially for a teenage witch with no real training in that area. Besides, it was doubtless that she was in Malfoy Manor and from what she had read, that particular wizarding home was lethal for any unwary visitor. There were stories about decapitated sales wizards who had ventured onto the grounds. But then again, Hermione didn't really want to be sitting here just waiting. She had no idea what Lucius wanted to do with her, but she suspected that it wasn't going to be pretty.

As the minutes mentally ticked by in Hermione's head, she found that Azkaban was beginning to sound like an appealing place. At least there she wouldn't be left with this... terrified anticipation.

A sharp knock on the door jerked her out of these depressing musings. The door opened and Lucius strode in. He was carrying his snake staff – apparently even a younger Lucius Malfoy was given into those pretensions – and a black cape was draped over his shoulders, flowing behind him. "I see that you are awake."

Hermione nodded. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Better not say anything, she thought. Especially anything I might regret.

"I suppose you are wondering why I took it upon myself to Stupefy you once you arrived here on my portkey," Lucius began, obviously needing no preliminaries.

"I was wondering that," Hermione said. "Somehow I had not expected to be treated like that considering what you told me at the Ministry."

A brief sneer passed over Lucius's face. "You, Miss Granger, would do well to remember that you are a fugitive on the run from the Ministry. If they caught you now..." he let his voice trail off, leaving her to fill in the blanks.

Hermione blanched. "Why'd you help me then?"

He raised an eyebrow, obviously one of his more common gestures as Hermione was beginning to realise. "What made you think that I was helping you?" There was the slightest emphasis on the final word.

"Well, then," Hermione said through gritted teeth, while her mental caution voice was waving red flags in her mind. "Who were you planning to help then?"

"That," Lucius told her smoothly, "will be revealed to you in due time."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"As I said," he answered, a note of impatience in his voice, "you will know soon. You will not be harmed, provided that you co-operate."

"But what am I going to do?"

"Whatever you are ordered to do," Lucius answered. He looked around the room. "You will no doubt be relatively comfortable in here. It is nicer than Azkaban. I will come for you tomorrow for your lessons." He spun around on his heel, causing the cloak to sweep around him. Hermione bit back an inappropriate giggle. That motion reminded her too much of Snape. With a sharp click, the door closed behind Lucius and the wards resealed themselves with a hiss.

She walked back to the settee and slumped down onto it. Hermione had no doubt that whatever Lucius had planned was both going to be embarrassing and difficult.

---

"You want me to learn the Dark Arts?" Hermione repeated incredulously.

Lucius simply gave her a steady look. "Did I not tell you that you were a strong, powerful witch?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "And yet you put wards on the room that even a child could break."

He gave, what on anybody else she would have termed a snort of amusement, but somehow that phrase didn't suit. "Why then did you not break them?" he asked.

She gave a double-take. "You wanted me to break the wards? Why did you have them up in the first place?"

He gave a slight smile that was more of a curl of the lips. "Let's call it a test of sorts."

Hermione was silent. He wanted her to break the wards? At a loss of what to say, she simply looked around the room that Lucius had led her to. It was a plain room with only one table and chair. The walls were white-washed and the floor was made of simple wooden floorboards. "What am I doing here then? Shouldn't I be... torturing house elves or something?"

Her sarcasm was lost on Lucius. "My, my, Miss Granger, I would have never thought that you would be such an eager learner. But I'm afraid that lesson will come later." He gave a humourless smile. "After all, we wouldn't want you to do something unwise with your wand, would we?"

"But what am I doing here?" Hermione knew that she was being deliberately provoking but realised that she had reached the stage where she simply didn't care. She had slept very badly the night before and was furious at herself for being in this situation in the first place. She should have never accepted that stupid time-turner!

Lucius didn't respond but took out a book from a pocket within his robes and placed it on the table. "You will read this. I will be back later."

He had turned around and was about to leave when Hermione muttered, "Why couldn't I do that in the other room? It was far more comfortable!"

With a swirl of black robes, Lucius spun around. "The precise reason why you are here," he said quietly. "People learn better without distractions."

With that strangely philosophical statement, he left, leaving Hermione staring after him. She shivered as she realised her similar words only a few months ago to Ron and Harry. I am nothing like Lucius Malfoy! Her firm words echoed in her mind. She bit her lip. But will I become like him? Her eyes strayed to the book sitting on the table. Surely it wouldn't hurt just to take one look? After all, knowledge wasn't evil.

Hermione picked up the book and began to read.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: A Question of Loyalty

Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.

Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)

**Chapter 5**

_The Dark Arts are contrasted from Light Magic only through definitions given by various Ministries. Currently the British Ministry has precedence in the International Wizengamot to decide which spells are classified as Dark and which are classified as Light. However, within their own territories, countries may subvert these international laws as they please. Australia, for example, classifies the Imperius Curse not as a Dark spell but as one that must be monitored carefully by their Ministry much like the Obliviate charm. _

_There is no inherent difference between the two Magics. In fact, spells which are Dark now may have been Light in a bygone era. Nevertheless, there are still general differences between Dark spells and Light spells. Light spells generally have a Latin base to them and were developed by the British witches and wizards during the Dark Ages where wizardkind were hunted. Most Dark spells, however, have an Arabic root and were practiced freely in the Middle East until the Dark Ages. The true reason for the classification of that period in history as the Dark Ages refers to the assimilation of these Dark spells into the wizarding culture of Europe and especially Britain. _

Hermione blinked and stared at the book in her hands. She had just skimmed over the first two paragraphs. Somehow, they were nothing like what she had expected a Dark Arts book to be like. She wasn't really sure what she had anticipated when she opened the book. Descriptions of ritual killings, maybe. Or perhaps even a step by step guide on how to cast Avada Kedavra. But certainly not this dry history of Dark Magic compared to Light Magic.

A small voice in the back of her mind cautioned her to be careful. There was a good chance that Lucius – seeing her reactions to the idea of Dark Magic in the Ministry – chose to take a theoretical approach.

Well surprisingly, he made a good choice, she thought with a mental sigh. If I ever wanted to learn the Dark Arts – which I don't! – I would have probably chosen this very book.

Hermione suspected that in itself should be incentive enough for her to not read the book. She carefully closed it, placed it on the table and looked around again. The room really was a boring place. So utterly white. Even the table, chair and floorboards were painted white, though she could see the grain of the wood underneath. There was a blankness about the room. As if somebody had decided to wipe out all the personality of the room. Surprising, really, that she hadn't noticed this as she was walking into the room. Even the presence of another person – regardless of the fact that he was a hated enemy – softened the glaring whiteness.

Before she could panic, Hermione made herself take deep calming breaths. He put me in here deliberately to break me, she told herself sternly. Don't satisfy him. The walls aren't closing in on you. You aren't going to be somehow assimilated into the room. It isn't going to wipe out your personality. The walls aren't closing in.

The walls aren't closing in.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to shut out the whiteness but it was useless. She could almost feel the glare through her eyelids. How could candles make such a glare? It felt like she was under fluorescent lights. Of course, she reasoned, there was a good chance that they were charmed candles. Somehow this didn't exactly make her feel better.

Hermione had once read in a Muggle book that this was an effective torture device. To stick somebody in a small space with bright floodlights. However, she didn't think that Lucius Malfoy would ever lower himself to use Muggle torture methods. After all, a Crucio would be equally effective. Besides, she had the book, didn't she? She could always read the book and there would be no problems. The walls wouldn't close in if she read the book.

Eyeing the book as if it were one of Hagrid's monsters, Hermione debated her options. She really shouldn't read the book. It would be falling into Lucius's trap. But, Hermione had to admit that she was genuinely curious what the book said. The first two paragraphs had piqued her curiosity. Besides, as loathe as she was to admit it to somebody like Ron, Hermione had always wanted to know more about the Dark Arts. Coming from a Muggle background, the idea that some spells could be inherently evil had always struck a discord with her. It felt too much like some sort of reverse-discrimination.

But as she found, much to her disappointment, the Hogwarts library didn't have anything beyond the normal criticism of the Dark Arts as being bloodthirsty and evil. She had yet to check the Restricted Section but suspected that the teachers were unlikely to give her a pass simply to assuage her curiosity. It wasn't as though she would ever try any of the spells she had heard of in passing. Hermione had always been a firm believer that knowledge for its own sake couldn't hurt anybody. There was nothing wrong with knowing the theoretical principles behind casting a Dark spell. After all, without practice, she wouldn't be able to cast it properly anyway even if she was desperate. So it was okay to learn about it.

Wasn't it?

Hermione wasn't really as sure as she wanted to be. Sometimes she wished that she could see the world in the black and white that Harry and Ron saw. But Hermione had always seen the world in gradations, much like the shading she had to do for art in primary school.

Wouldn't it be so much easier if everything could be classified as good and evil? Light Magic is good. Dark Magic is evil. Nothing in between. But it seemed to her that the older she got, the more she seemed to be stuck in the nuances in between.

Hermione gave a wry smile as she toyed with the book in her hands. Wasn't she the perfect example of a shade of grey now? A Muggle-born who didn't believe that that the Dark Arts were pure evil. For Merlin's sake, the laws against the Dark Arts were there to protect people like her. And now she was forced to study them.

She looked again at the book in her hands. Surely it wouldn't hurt to just read it? She didn't have to believe in it and if it used rhetoric, then she would be able to notice, wouldn't she?

Hermione was confident in her abilities not to be swayed by the text, but suspicious as to why she was so confident. It wasn't as though she had any real reason to be confident. Perhaps it was simply bravado on her part.

She threw her hands up in disgust. She honestly didn't know what to think.

And this, she thought with a mental sigh, is why I usually react instead of thinking about it when people talk about the Dark Arts.

Her natural reaction was to react with as much disgust as her fellow Gryffindors, though Hermione now suspected that was more habit now for her than anything else. The more she thought about it, the more unfair the current rules regarding Dark magic were. People simply reacted without thinking about the real reason why they hated them. Dark Magic doesn't kill people. People kill people. A well place levitation spell could kill as effectively as Avada Kedavra.

Hermione wasn't sure what she would have become if she grew up in a wizarding household. In a way, she had never questioned the principles she grew up with. The ideals of freedom and liberty. The hatred of slavery. What if she had grown up hating Muggle-borns? Would she have really rebelled against it or would she have simply accepted it as given. Hermione couldn't help but feel a great deal of admiration for Sirius when she thought this way.

I suppose what I'm really scared of, Hermione thought, is that I have some sort of inherent inclination for the Dark Arts. And if I read this book...

She stopped that train of thought abruptly.

I'm being ridiculous, Hermione scolded herself. It's a book. It can't brainwash me. I have a choice!

Of course, she amended slightly, it could brainwash me. It's a wizarding text, after all. But it isn't Tom Riddle's diary or anything. Surely... surely I'm strong enough to resist it?

With an uncertain expression on her face, Hermione picked up the book again.

_The most well-known Dark spells are the Unforgivable Curses: Imperius, Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra. Imperius causes the subject to be completely under the control of the caster. To cast the spell, the caster must say: 'Imperio.' Cruciatus causes the subject to experience severe pain. To cast the spell, the caster must say: 'Crucio.' Avada Kedavra kills the subject. To cast the spell, the caster must say: 'Avada Kedavra.' These spells, however, despite being well known and widely used, are by far some of the least severe Dark spells. _

Hermione blinked rapidly. This she certainly didn't know.

_The Imperius Curse is a completely painless curse and will not harm the subject even with prolonged use. Although the Cruciatus Curse is extremely painful, and may cause side-effects of shaking limbs, vomiting, stuttered speech, etc, is nevertheless, far less painful than its cousins. Finally, Avada Kedavra is a painless killing method that was considered merciful during the Dark Ages. _

_Most Dark spells have currently gone out of fashion. Many European wizards feel that to use spells with Arabic roots, they are insulting their ancestors who fought to keep those spells out of the European spellbooks. This book, however, will teach the willing wizard Dark spells from all nationalities. _

"Dobby askes miss to excuse him," came a small voice from behind Hermione.

She jumped and spun around. The small elf was standing there holding a tray of food. "Dobby?" she repeated incredulously.

The elf nodded earnestly, big ears flapping. "Dobby is sorry miss, but Dobby is delivering food to miss."

The tray was offered towards Hermione who took it.

"Dobby is going," the elf said before bowing and disappearing.

"That was," Hermione muttered, "a very obedient Dobby." She frowned and then looked the food tray. It was surprisingly well stocked with cut sandwiches, cold meat and vegetables on the side. There was even a jug of ice cold pumpkin juice and a glass.

With a shrug, she picked up the knife and fork and began to eat. It was unlikely the food was poisoned. Besides, what else could she do? Starve?

After a pause, Hermione picked up the book and laid it carefully in front of her and read while she ate.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: A Question of Loyalty

Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.

Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)

**Chapter 6**

"Enjoying yourself?"

Hermione glanced up and saw Lucius standing in front of her with his arms crossed across his chest, regarding her calmly. Looking back down, she realised that she had already read about a quarter of the thick text. "It's interesting," she said noncommittally when she realised that he was looking for an answer.

"Would you like to meet somebody? She is very interested in you."

She couldn't help snorting slightly. Here she was in the past, a virtual prisoner of Lucius Malfoy, and somebody wanted to meet her? There was no doubt in Hermione's mind what kind of person it was. "Well there isn't anything I can do to stop her from coming in here," she said tartly.

Lucius shrugged. "It was still polite to ask."

"Oh no doubt," Hermione said. "As it is very polite to keep me here as a prisoner."

He didn't answer but simply turned around and waved for somebody to enter the room. As the tall woman entered, Hermione gave an involuntary shudder. The woman had a distinct resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange. Well Bellatrix Black in this time, she amended slightly. Not so much in physical appearance but rather in attitude. There was the same arrogant look directed through long eyelashes. The same confident stride. The same smirk. Were all female Death Eaters like this? Hermione had no idea and she really didn't want to find out.

The woman looked down her long, beaky nose at Hermione making her feel as though she was being scrutinised down to her very pores. "She doesn't look that powerful," the woman finally said. "Are you sure that she managed to cast an Unforgivable."

Lucius nodded. "The Ministry were about to send her to Azkaban."

"This could be a trap."

Hermione watched as Lucius's eyes flicked quickly towards her. She wondered why the woman had chosen to speak so frankly in front of her. A small shiver went down her spine. The only reason she could think of was that they were either going to convert her – and be convinced of her conversion – or eliminate her.

"Unlikely," Lucius said. He turned and gave Hermione a cold smile. "You, Miss Granger, will be learning from Winthrop here. She has much skill with the casting of Dark spells. You would do well to emulate her."

Hermione glared at him. "And what if I don't want to learn the Dark Arts?"

"You have no choice," Lucius told her simply.

"She has spirit," the woman called Winthrop observed. "That can be used."

Hermione glared at the woman who simply looked dispassionately back at her. She certainly did not want her _spirit _used by Death Eaters. "Not if I can help it," she muttered.

To her surprise, the woman laughed. "You have much spirit," she said. "I will enjoy speaking to you."

From the tone of her voice, Hermione could tell that she meant to do a lot more than simply speaking. She contemplated whether to make a threat, but then decided that it would probably be interpreted by Lucius as a sign of her 'improvement' in the Dark Arts. She settled for a glare instead.

Winthrop seemed to give Lucius a hard glare and Lucius quickly left the room.

Hermione studied the woman. Aside from the vague resemblance she had to Bellatrix Lestrange, there was nothing familiar about her countenance. The woman's dark brown hair was swept in a severe style that left her neck completely bare. Somehow, she reminded Hermione of an overgrown, thin bird.

"If you have perhaps finished studying me," the woman said frostily, making Hermione jump.

"Sorry," she muttered and immediately berated herself for saying it. It was automatic for her to apologise when an older person criticised her. It was at times like this that Hermione wished that she was slightly less mannerly.

"Well at least you have some manners."

Hermione was mildly surprised when she held out a long thin hand for her to shake. "My name is Patricia Winthrop."

Hermione half held out her own hand before she caught herself and withdrew it. "I see no reason for you to be so polite," she snapped. "I'm a prisoner here, aren't I? Come to think of it, I need not be polite either. Prisoners aren't supposed to have manners."

Patricia merely gave her a cold smile. "What makes you believe that you are a prisoner?"

"What, aside from the fact I can't leave?" Hermione said angrily.

"Tell me, my i droog /i , would you prefer to be escorted by the Ministry to Azkaban so that you can stay in your nice and cosy cell there? Try to think of this more as for your own," Patricia paused, "_protection._"

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly at the familiar usage of her given name. It sounded slightly creepy in the sharp voice of the other woman. There was a slight accent there, but she couldn't place it. The foreign word sounded vaguely Eastern European. "I am more than capable of looking after myself! I don't need yours or Malfoy's protection."

A thin eyebrow was arched. "Don't be so judgemental. Why, one might think that you were prejudiced against us for no good reason."

"I have my reasons," Hermione said carefully.

There was a gleam in one of the brown eyes. "Please, then, enlighten me. I was speaking to Lucius earlier, and he seemed quite adamant that you were completely unfamiliar to him."

She gave a forced laugh. "Oh you know," she said, "I heard some rather nasty tales about the Malfoys."

Patricia gave her a speculative look. "Judging by your age, you would be in the same year as one of my cousins. I wonder, then, why we have never heard of you. Your accent is purely British."

"I was home-schooled," Hermione said weakly. She couldn't let this Winthrop woman know that she was Muggle-born. Even if she wasn't as fanatically conscious of bloodlines as Lucius, surely she would tell him. And Hermione was under no delusions of what would happen to her if he knew.

"Indeed." Patricia's tone was noncommittal. "That is very rare."

Hermione gave a silent gulp. She suspected that the woman had been sent by Lucius, not to teach her the Dark Arts, but rather to question her. Why that job hadn't been taken by Lucius himself, she had no idea. She realised that she had to come up with a believable story. A _complete_ believable story. And now. If she was to have any chance of escaping alive, that is. "Don't I know it?" She gave a slight snort, careful to keep her voice even. She had once read somewhere that changes in voice pitch and frequency were some of the most obvious clues to the fact the other person was lying. Keeping eye contact, she rolled her eyes. "I hated it." She gave a little pause for effect, before crying out: "Why are you keeping me here? I'm sure my parents are looking for me and sooner or later they'll find this place and then you'll be sorry!"

"A nicely woven tale," Patricia said, making Hermione's heart plummet. "Too bad you didn't tell it when I first came into the room. I might have been fooled then."

Hermione bit her lip. "It's not a tale!" she snapped.

Patricia shrugged. "Whatever you say. It matters little to me. This place is Unplottable. Nobody will be able to find you here. Besides, as soon as I saw you, I knew that you were hiding something." She gave Hermione a shrewd look. "I will find out what you're hiding sooner or later."

"I'm not hiding anything!" Hermione exclaimed. "I just don't want to learn the Dark Arts and I want to go home!"

"Interesting order of words." Patricia seemed to be musing on her words. "You seem to have an irrational dislike of the Dark Arts."

"It's not irrational!" Hermione was livid. How dare the woman insinuate that she was some sort of prejudiced idiot. "They hurt people!"

The look Patricia gave her seemed disappointed. "If that is truly what you think, then you are more mentally deficient than I thought."

A small part of Hermione's mind taunted: Didn't you just think to yourself a few hours ago that the Dark Arts weren't truly evil? Hypocrite! She clamped down on that thought. "They hurt people," she repeated stubbornly. She realised that she was resorting to the rhetoric she had heard from Ron. What does it matter anyway? Hermione thought angrily. Even if the Dark Arts aren't pure evil, they're not exactly good anyway! They _do_ hurt people!

As if she had read her mind, Patricia answered: "And a well-placed Incendio can also hurt as much as the Unforgivables." She gave a sudden smile. "As I'm sure you are very familiar with the Unforgivables. Tell me, Hermione, did the Ministry even ask you whether you preformed the Imperius Curse on a human?"

Hermione gave a start at these words.

Patricia smirked. "An oversight, maybe..." she trailed off, leaving Hermione's mind to fill in the blanks.

They didn't even ask me whether I had performed the Curse on a human or not? Hermione repeated numbly to herself. How could I have not noticed? Of course, Hermione knew perfectly well why that particularly important detail had managed to slip her mind. Her mind was still reeling with the idea that she was stuck about twenty years in the past. In fact, she was still trying to come to terms with that fact.

"Tell me, girl, what justification did you use to perform the Imperius Curse?" Patricia suddenly asked.

Hermione bit her lip.

"The common good, perhaps?" Patricia gave her a sardonic smile. "The side of the Light could never misuse Dark spells, therefore they are allowed to learn them. They would never do anything morally wrong, would they?"

"We wouldn't!" Hermione burst out. She immediately gave herself a mental kick for saying that out aloud.

"Of course you wouldn't," Patricia mocked. Hermione watched, as the older woman's hands clenched rhythmically. "Tell me, my dear, what are those farcical trials that the Ministry holds? Even some parts of the i Muggle /i ," she spat out the word, "have better trials than the British Ministry."

Hermione gave her a surprised look. "And what would a..." she paused. If she was going to stay alive, she should probably pretend that she didn't know the other woman was a Death Eater. "What would you know about the Muggle world?"

"Ignorance of our opposition never helped anybody," Patricia said. "Let's just leave it at that." There was a bitter smile on her face.

Hermione had the strangest impulse to reach out a hand and pat the arm of the other woman. She gave herself a mental shake. It's probably some sort of manipulation, she told herself sternly. She's trying to manipulate you into feeling sorry for her and then you'll be more susceptible to her ideas. But she couldn't block out the expression of sadness that had flickered across the other woman's face. "I'm sorry?" she ventured.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Patricia told her, her voice hard. "After all, it's not as if you have anything to do with the Muggle scourge. You're not a Mudblood."

Stiffening imperceptibly, Hermione felt her heartbeat race. They're definitely going to kill me if they realise that I'm Muggle-born, she thought faintly. "That doesn't mean I want to kill all of them," she said carefully.

Patricia gave her a strange look, but didn't respond to her statement. She gave Hermione a piercing look. "You are intelligent," she said finally. "I will enjoy seeing you flourish in the Dark Arts."

"I never said I would learn them."

Patricia smiled. "You don't have a choice."


End file.
